


Book Club

by daggerpen



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-20 09:25:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16134383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daggerpen/pseuds/daggerpen
Summary: The Joker Survivors Support Group meets somewhere around Coventry Plaza every week. Jason Todd does not attend.





	Book Club

**Author's Note:**

> Content warnings apply for non-graphic references to murder, abuse, parental death, child death, gun violence, facial mutilation ("Wanna know how I got these scars?" style), and suicide.
> 
> Also, just as a note to any Harley Quinn fans, there's a character (not Jason) in this who rags on Harley for a paragraph or two, and I just want to be clear that this is a definite "character opinion is not author opinion" situation. I actually like Harley a lot, but it doesn't make sense for a character in this situation to know some key details. I hope the narrative makes it clear, but I just want to make sure, since I know how much it sucks to have someone rag on a character you really like.

They meet somewhere around Coventry Plaza every week. The exact details vary from week to week, the time and place of the next meeting announced at the end of every one. They do not advertise their meetings, nor do they post online. Those who miss a meeting can always contact the organizer through a designated email address, and those known to the organizer can generally expect a response, but that's about it in terms of options. New members are always recruited by existing ones, typically contacted after a news story or chance encounter. There is no other application process, because, by design, there is supposed to be no other way of knowing about the group.

The group has no official name. Why would they need one, when they don't ever post advertisements or hang banners? But when speaking to new members, they tend to call it the Joker Survivors Support Group.

It's not the first of its kind. Not nearly. There have been predecessors to it for almost as long as the clown has been an active threat. But this one is easily the most successful. By which he means, it's the one that's gone the longest without being attacked.

Not by _him_. These sorts of groups are too small fry for _him_ to care about, or at least he hasn't yet. But the clown has his share of followers. Demented, sadistic freaks always looking for ways to ‘prove themselves worthy’ of his attention. Going after survivors like this is always the first on everyone's idea list.

It's not a sure thing. One time meetings and vigils go all right more often than not. Oh, there are the occasional incidents which always make the news, but there are enough quiet, successful ones to keep people doing it. But a full-out support group? That's never lasted long. Hold enough meetings, let word get out too far, and it's just a matter of time.

Everyone knows that, too. Hence the group's secrecy. For the most part, it's been working for them.

Jason's ‘only’ had to stop four attacks in the whole time he's known about the group, after all.

So yeah. It's not really a concept built to last. As far as Jason's concerned, everyone in the group is an idiot. They want to talk, they should grab a computer and talk online. There's plenty of groups for that. Sure, they see their share of trolling. But no one's ever gotten shot when some aspiring death-worshipper decided to infiltrate the ranks. They've got their own guardian seeing to _that_.

But no. For whatever reasons, these guys have decided they need to meet in person. God forbid they not pack themselves in little conference rooms like sardines for their trips down memory lane.

Still. Jason’ll be damned if he's about to just let the clowns _win_. Especially with something so _easy._ So Jason's taken to babysitting.

Which is what brings him here, to the rooftop outside Giordano's Pizza, setting up his surveillance gear and settling in for another long night. He's in no rush -- he'd planted the bugs throughout the room about an hour before anyone started arriving. Madeline, the organizer, always does a quick sweep of the room for anything suspicious, but she doesn't really know what she's doing. She mostly just checks for packages, weird lights, anything that looks out of place. She doesn't have the training to spot anything higher tech. Hell, she can't even spot the bugs Jason always puts in the room. They've been lucky, though -- they'd only had a bombing attempt the one time, and Jason had taken care of it well before anyone had come in.

Everyone filters in slowly. Madeline greets everyone at the door, like always. Turnout always varies some, but with recent events, Jason's expecting a full house.

They don't disappoint. There's about 16 members who show up with any regularity, but only really 7 who are there every time. The real wrecks, mostly. Tonight, Jason counts 12 -- the usual suspects and a few others, mostly the ones who don't work nights. The group has a general rule about not using anyone's full names, but Jason knows all of them. Hard to do much to protect a group like this without keeping tabs. It wasn't even that hard. They're lucky no one else has done it.

Then #13 walks in. Jason does a double take -- this one’s new. He's not alone; the rest of the group, sans organizer, is eyeing the new guy, too.

Madeline seems to notice, clapping her hands a few times.

“We have a new attendee today, everyone,” she announces to the room. “He’ll be going by Charlie for this. We'll be doing introductions in a bit, but everyone, please settle in and sit when you're ready.”

That seems to calm the others down. Jason, however, remains on edge. New members are generally pretty well vetted, but it's always a risk. Worse, he hadn't heard about this one, so he hadn't had any chance to run his own background checks. He's going in blind here, and he doesn't like it. Thank God he's got skylight access if all else fails. He'd never have picked out any place with access points like this if he were in charge, but lucky for them, it works out this time.

For now, though, it's business as usual. Most support groups would probably have donuts and coffee or some shit like that, but this one's on a pretty strict BYO policy, no sharing. Too risky. Too many ways someone could spike it.

Shame, though. Evening or not, it's a pretty hot summer to be going without a drink. Jason takes a sip of his own Cherry Soder, and eyes a car that's been sitting across the street a little too long.

They go around the room, introducing themselves. Jason's heard it all so many times he could rattle it all off himself. Madeline goes first. She's the youngest of the group, even a bit younger than Jason, but her story's one of the oldest. She'd been just a kid, maybe 9 when her parents had taken her out to the circus. It was still in the clown's early days, before the threat was widespread in the public conscious, and the Joker had been impersonating one of the circus's clowns. He'd been walking around with the usual tricks. Balloons, squirting flowers, joy buzzers -- and a ‘seltzer’ bottle full of smylex.

Jason doesn't even need to be listening to her to recite what came next. The clown had played his part, until he'd approached the giggling little girl in the audience.

“-- and he said… ‘Who should I squirt?’ I laughed, and said… ‘Daddy! Daddy!’ It was a circus, you know? It was all just a game. And then he just told me… ‘Okay. But remember… you chose daddy.’”

She's gotten good at telling this story. Well, that's the wrong word. She's gotten _used_ to telling this story. She still chokes up at parts, but she can usually finish the job these days. Definitely since taking over as organizer. Jason's heard there used to be another organizer, a while before he learned about the group, but he'd never known him. Just what happened to him.

Madeline seems to be doing better than that, though. She only needs a few minutes before she nods, letting the next one speak.

Arnett volunteers. He doesn't seem like he particularly wants to step forward. But with the new member, he probably wants to get everything out of the way.

It makes sense.  Arnett is always the odd one at the group. At everywhere, really, what with the scars carving the smile into the sides of his face. He covers it as best he can. He's had a few surgeries, all out of pocket, trying to reduce it. But it's still there, a grisly reminder of everything that people came here to try to get over. The others try to be sympathetic, but there's always at least one person who can't suppress the wince.

He keeps coming anyway, though.

As for how he got them? According to the story he's always retelling, he was out jogging one day, and passed by Amusement Mile. Ran afoul of one of the Joker gangs there, the Cut-Ups, who'd brought him back to the boss and had their fun with him.

He's definitely lying. Jason's looked into him. He's an ex-Penguin guy who'd been on the payroll during one of Cobblepot’s scuffles with the clown. He'd been unlucky enough to be snagged as a ‘message’ to send back to the boss. Jason never felt a need to expose him, though. Maybe he'd been lying about the circumstances, but the rest always sounded pretty real to him. Plus, he'd tried to go straight afterwards, not that he hasn't been struggling with it. Not a lot of work for an ex-con with those scars. Jason's sent a few ‘good fortune’ packages his way a few times, but he's never seriously considered hiring him on. If the guy's trying to go straight, Jason won't be the one to drag him back into that life. That, and… well. Yeah.

Jason checks back up on the suspicious car. Turns out, it's definitely a drug deal. Not his problem tonight, though. He turns his attention back to the area at large, surveying it.

Cindy goes third. Or at least, it's probably still Cindy. Last Jason had heard, she was getting it legally changed. No surprise, considering.

It'd been Christmas a few years back. She'd been out shopping, during the height of the holiday rush. And the clown had been doing a Grinch gag for the season. He'd taken over the entire mall and gathered everyone in the center area to be the cast. He'd pulled out some at random, his goons shoving them into various outfits. And then he'd begun walking around to the various women in the crowd.

He'd shot three of them before Cindy stepped forward. She tells the story the same way every time. The clown had grabbed the first woman --

“Hello there. I'm looking for a Cindy for our starring role! Is that your name?”

“N-no, I'm --”

BLAM.

“No one cares! Next?”

He grabs the second one. “Well, hello there!”

“Yes! I'm Cindy! That's me!”

“Oh, perfect! Now, let's just check your wallet here, shall we? … oh, Stacy. No one likes a liar.”

BLAM.

So he grabs the third one. “Well, hello there. What's your name, dearie?”

She doesn't even say anything, just starts crying. The clown just rustles through her wallet.

“Oh well. Better luck next time!”

BLAM.

She'd stepped forward after that, and been ‘cast’. Batman, naturally, had been the ‘Grinch,’ and had had a bomb strapped to his chest. Something about his heart growing three sizes? Jason doesn't know, and he doesn't care. Bruce had disarmed the bomb, freed the hostages, and dragged the clown back to Arkham, leaving Cindy with the cops and media.

Everyone had said she was a hero, that she was brave. But Cindy had never felt the same way. See, Cindy tells the story the same way every time. But sometimes, just sometimes, with someone else, she adds on a little bit more. The clown had shot three women before Cindy had stepped forward. But anyone could have seen the pattern after two.

She doesn't say that now, though. Just finishes off with the usual. It's not surprising; she has to be in a pretty bad way to admit it. And certainly not in front of a stranger like the new guy.

Jason checks his cameras again. They're all full of activity. He really wishes they'd pick somewhere more isolated for these little get-togethers. Though, he supposes there aren't a lot of low traffic places in Gotham up to rent out for meetings. Not outside of Amusement Mile.

He doesn't pursue the thought farther, returning his focus to check back up on the group.

Ugh. It's Edward up next. Jason fucking hates this guy. He's an ex-Arkham guard, with a real sob story. He was badly wounded in an escape, then was dismissed after trying to kill the clown. No charges were ever brought, but he’s had trouble finding other work since. Touching. Really brings a tear to your eye. Of course… what Edward neglects to mention is that that escape he was wounded in? He'd been in on it from the start. He'd been the inside man on a contraband smuggling ring, and the clown had found out and blackmailed him into leaving an opening for him. But he'd fucked up Edward on the way out as a parting punchline.

And now here he is, with the gall to act like the victim of a problem he helped make. Jason wants to punch his teeth down his damn throat. He wishes he had some way to out the guy for what he is to the rest of the group, but Jason can't think of anything that wouldn't just seem like some random guy trying to fuck with the group.

Doesn't mean he has to like it, though.

Fortunately, he doesn't have to dwell on it long, because Katie's up next. She's characteristically short and to the point about her story. She'd been an intern with GCN a few years ago, and the clown had taken the entire newsroom hostage to force them to televise an announcement: he was running for Mayor. ‘Why vote for the lesser of two evils?’ The stories were obnoxious enough when he'd read them. The approximately 2,000 people who'd written him in generally disheartening. The several months of self-represented recount lawsuits before a judge had shut him down, par for the course. City council had passed a law barring that sort of thing from happening again, but by then he'd already gotten his laughs in.

She's no Edward, but Jason can't stand Katie either. She's got a real chip on her shoulder about seeming above it all, and she's pretty preachy about it, too. Honestly. Like anyone who shows up to every damn one of these meetings is doing just fine.

Whatever. Jason won't dwell on it. He checks the perimeter again. There's a man and a woman busking in the middle of the sidewalk. Looks like a guitar and percussion setup, which doesn't worry him too much. Those don't tend to raise flags. Mimes, magicians and comedy acts are the ones he'll watch. Street clowns get confronted directly -- anyone doing that is either Joker gang affiliated, or too fucking dumb to make it in Gotham anyway.

And now it's Paul's turn. He's a homecare worker now, but Paul had been a nurse at Gotham General not too long ago. Jason can't actually remember what the clown and Harley Quinn wanted at the hospital, but they'd taken the whole thing over. Paul had been working the maternity ward when he'd taken a mallet to the chest. He’d fractured three ribs and collapsed a lung. Then the two of them had tied him in an oversized stroller, gagged him with duct tape and a pacifier, and left him in a corner. He'd been there almost two hours, half drowning in his blood and listening to Harley and the clown talk over the intercom, before Batman and police had cleared the area.

“I don't know why people keep saying she's another victim. She's just as bad as he is.” Paul's taking the time to rant about Harley Quinn again. “You seen the recent news about her lately? Wrecking Washington DC? And didn't she just try to blow up Atlantis?”

Paul really has it out for Quinn after her role in what happened to him. Jason gets it. He's not exactly one of her fans, either. But ‘just as bad’? There's not a lot of people who meet that criteria.

Paul continues his rant for about five more minutes. Jason tunes out, scanning the passersby again. Some woman with purple hair and a green scarf catches his eye. Green hair is always a red flag -- no one in Gotham has green hair but tourists and clowns. Purple is more borderline. 90% of the time, it’s innocent enough. But the color combination? Jason watches her, and doesn't relax until she's out of sight. He turns his attention back to the group.

Oh. It's Larry. He's got your pretty basic story. He was an overnight security guard at the Gotham Museum of Antiquities. Some genius had had the bright idea to run a Dentistry Through the Ages exhibit. Not hard to fill in the details from there. He hasn't been here in a _long_ time.

In fact, now that Jason does a headcount, most of the ones left are the intermittent attendees. There's Rhona, one of the survivors of the Golden Arches incident that had gotten the city council to ban clowns in advertising. Sefton, the construction worker whose crew had been assigned to tear down one of the clown's old hideouts in Amusement Mile, to his displeasure. Rachel, the woman who'd been a witness for one of the times the DA actually tried to prosecute and get the death penalty. The case had been dropped once the main witness, Rachel, had been intimidated into silence by Joker gang members. Jason had actually thought she'd finally moved out of the city like she'd been talking about; looks like she never made it. Probably had trouble finding a new job and had to go back to her Wayne Enterprises gig. And Lenny, the former standup comic who'd been kidnapped to play the warmup act for some gag or another. Still has the scars from those exploding tomatoes. And then there's… ah.

Kim.

Jason had almost missed her. She's one of the other regulars, actually, but she rarely speaks. Seems like she is tonight, though.

This one's one of the hardest ones to hear. Her husband, Ron, had been kind of a piece of shit, but she'd stayed with him anyway. It'd been a complex situation, with a lot of stuff going on… not to mention their son. She'd stayed with him through the abuse, through the arrests… and through him throwing in with the Joker gang. She'd begged him not to, but he'd done it anyway. He wanted the money. He wanted the power. He wanted to be the guy on the block no one ever messed with.

No one except the boss, that is. The boss, and Batman. Which was the problem.

Kim had never known what happened exactly. Maybe he said the wrong thing. Maybe he flipped and told Batman something he shouldn't have. Maybe he just failed during a mission. But one day, there was a fire at the house. The firefighters had pulled Kim out, but their son… they'd tried. But they were just too late.

No one ever saw the Clown there. But everyone knew what had happened. Ron had sure known, when he'd hung himself in his own cell.

Kim's working at a women's shelter now. One of the ones Jason helps fund, even -- it'd been how he learned about the group in the first place. She's keeping her head above water. But after all these years, she still can't quite move on.

… no one's ever sure what to say, after Kim speaks. A few of the others move to comfort her. A few quiet minutes pass, and she just nods a little, recomposing herself. Like she's giving the permission for the group to continue.

Then it's just the new guy. He looks… Jason can't quite read that expression. A bit shaken, a bit hesitant. Like he's trying to work up the nerve and can't quite do it.

“Would you like to talk, Charlie?”

Charlie just sort of shrugs.

“You don't have to talk about it if you're not ready,” she says gently. “Sometimes it helps to just sit and listen, and know that other people have been through the same thing. Do you want me to tell them what happened for you?’

Charlie nods vaguely.

“Charlie was in the recent gas attack downtown,” Madeline explains.

Oh. That one. Jason knows exactly what she's talking about. (Of course he does.) It was the new dionesium-based Smilex venom the clown had been trying out. Apparently, Charlie had been one of the guinea pigs. Seems a little tame to bring him here, honestly, but Jason supposes that stuff can really fuck you up. But no wonder he didn't want to speak after all of that.

If he's telling the truth, anyway. Jason's still suspicious. It's nothing he's done specifically. But Jason doesn't trust anyone he hasn't vetted, and he can't get a good enough shot to run facial recognition on this guy. He needs to rethink his camera placement for the next time. Maybe add some infrared arrays, too? A metal detector would be nice, but that's not real easy to set up unobtrusively.

“Does anyone else have anything they want to say?” Madeline asks. “Or should we move on to the reason I think most of us are here tonight?”

Oh. Here they go.

They aren't just here to tell their stories. New guy needed to hear them, but they wouldn't get far just rehashing that every time. No, tonight's main topic is the recent news. It always is. Jason's not sure what they'd talk about if there hadn't been any news since the last meeting. It hasn't happened yet.

This one's particularly hot off the press, though. Jason had been on his way out the door yesterday night when the story had come on. His blood's boiling just thinking about it.

“Just in case you haven't heard, unfortunately, it's been all over the news --”

The clown's trying to release an autobiography now. A damned _autobiography_.

“Everyone's heard by now,” Paul interrupts. “It’s everywhere. You can't avoid it. You go online, everyone's posting about it. Turn on the TV, it's all free speech debates.”

“Someone at work brought it up earlier,” Rachel says. “Just some water cooler talk. They don't know, yanno? I had to leave early, it was getting so bad.”

Jason knows exactly what they're talking about. His guys know better than to bring the clown up around him, but the rest of the underground still goes nuts every time there's Joker news. He can't run so much as a damn surveillance job without hearing about it.

“He just wants the attention,” Katie says. “It's all he ever does. He just wants to feed his ego. It's been two whole days since his face was on TV, and he can't stand that.”

“Yeah, well. He's got it,” Cindy responds. “Everyone's trying not to think about it, but here we are.”

Jason realizes, suddenly, that for the first time, he's got a good shot of ‘Charlie’. He taps a few buttons on his wristpad, starting the upload to the facial recognition database. It's not exactly Oracle-level, but it should identify him soon enough.

“I'm just gonna say what everyone's thinking,” Cindy says. “Are any of us going to be in the damn book?”

“Please,” Arnett scoffs. “Like any of us were important enough to even remember. That's the worst part of it, right? Knowing that we're all just sideshows to the ‘main event’. It's always been about Batman. We're just collateral.”

Arnett's probably right. Not that Jason's thought too much about this. But everyone in this group was just a throwaway, as far as the clown was concerned. Set dressing for his games with Batman. There's a reason _he's_ never gone after this group, after all, only the pathetic freakjobs vying for his attention.

Jason's not in the same boat as any of them, though.

Jason's going to be in the goddamn book.

If it gets published, anyway.

“It's never going to get published anyway,” Katie says. “There'll be a public outcry, the publishers will drop it before they get boycotted out of business, and the Joker will stop caring, because he's already gotten what he wanted.”

Katie's annoying. But she's probably right.

Right? The Clown wants the publicity. He wants everyone talking about it, to rub salt in all the wounds.

But he's not going to write it, right? He just wants everyone thinking about it. Which is why Jason's trying not to think about it.

“I just can't stop thinking about it, though,” Cindy says. “What if he does publish it? What would he even say in it? What kind of twisted shit would be in there?”

But if he does, Jason's going to be in it. That time he killed Robin. He'd never leave that out. But what else would he say? What else would he write?

“There's no way to know without reading the thing. Which I know _none_ of us are doing,” Edward says.

“There'll be excerpts on the news, though. Come on,” Larry says.

“I just wish, if he's going to do it, he'd just do it now and get it over with,” Kim says. “I can't stand this. It's just going to be months of this. It'll be all over the news for a week, and then when we think it's died down and it's safe, it's just going to keep going. There'll be some news blurb about it, or some update on the situation. For _months._ When we're all just trying to forget and move on.”

“It’s torture in slow motion,” Rachel agrees.

“It’s _been_ torture in slow motion,” Cindy says. “When's the last time we've gone a week without having something from the news to talk about?”

She's right. It never stops. It just never stops.

Fuck. Fuck this.

“This is exactly what he wants,” Katie says. “All of us sitting around wondering what's going to be in it. The more time we spend on it, the more he wins.”

“Did you come to this just to preach?” Arnett snaps.

“I'm not preaching, I'm just saying --”

“I don't care what you're saying, I'm tired of this! You act all superior, but you're here every damn week! You're just as stuck in it as anyone else here! Why do you even come here if all you ever say is how we need to move on?”

“That's not what I'm saying! If you would just _listen_ for a second --”

“Both of you, stop it!” Madeline interjects. “Arnett, Katie -- this is a safe space and you know it. Arnett, you have every right to what you're feeling, but please let Katie explain herself. Katie, be a little more mindful of how you're coming across. No one likes to be told how to deal with their trauma. Now, do you want to finish what you were saying?”

Arnett and Katie both grumble a little, but after a moment, Katie continues, “What I was _saying_ is that we need to stop -- is that the _media_ needs to stop feeding this. Every little thing he does isn't automatically newsworthy. They're just enabling his narcissism for ratings. If they stopped feeding it, maybe we could all go a damn week without having a topical group meeting.”

Jason still can't stand Katie, but he has to admit she has a point.

“What if they cut him off and he just escalates, though?” Rhona asks. “It’s not like Arkham ever holds him. The news stories suck, but we all know how much worse it can get.”

“We can't all just do what he wants because he might do worse,” Kim speaks up. “I'm tired of living in fear of him.”

“Well, that's why we're all here, isn't it?” Madeline asks. “Because we've decided not to live in fear anymore.”

“Yeah, well, there would be an easy way to accomplish that,” Arnett grumbles.

“Oh, let's not do this again,” Cindy groans.

“I’m just saying, if anyone in this city had any sense, someone would have put a damn bullet in him years ago,” Arnett continues.

Sometimes, Jason really likes Arnett.

“No one here would cry to see him dead, Ronnie,” Cindy says. “But every time you do this, you turn it into an excuse to rag on the man who's the only reason most of this room is even still here --”

“Oh, he's the reason we're here, all right!” Armett says heatedly. “It's like I said earlier, it's always been about Batman and the Joker. We're all just collateral.”

“And I think --”

“For the last time, stop it!” Madeline snaps. “Arnett, what part of ‘safe space’ did you not understand? And Cindy, you're just encouraging him. We're all here to support each other and heal, not to tear each other apart over petty nonsense! Don't you think that that's _exactly_ what the Joker would want?”

That's when the ID from that facial recognition scan on ‘Charlie’ comes back. Now, at the exact moment that Jason skims his priors. Sees the Jokerz content on his social media stuff. And sees through his cameras, as Charlie shifts in his seat, the glint of metal down the back of his belt.

He has a gun. And they'd picked a building with no damn metal detector.

He has a gun. And Jason doesn't have the shot.

 _Fuck_.

They'd picked the room badly. There's a skylight. Jason just doesn't have the angle. Stupid. Careless and stupid. He'd known from the start that something wasn't right. But he'd been too busy watching for outside threats to get in position to deal with this. And now, he can see ‘Charlie’ on his cameras, reaching for the piece as the others continue to argue.

He has to move. Now, before anyone gets hurt. It'll mean blowing his cover, but what the hell else can he do? It's his own damn fault for being this careless. Getting complacent.

Jason swings his rifle over his shoulder and runs. He'd scoped the room before this, done at least that much right. He needs the northeast corner, about 10 feet out. He can make it there in a few seconds. No gunshots, no screaming. He has time. He can make it.

Still nothing as he makes it. Jason drops to a knee, raising the scope to his eye.

Charlie's hands are back in his lap.

Jason's mind grinds to a halt.

What the hell is he doing? He hadn't… Jason _hadn't_ … for a heartstopping moment, he taps a button on his wrist, pulling the camera feed back up on his lenses.

No. It's there. He hadn't imagined it. He taps another button, not taking his other hand off the trigger. The facial recognition match is right here. Andrew Charles Griebling. Priors for breaking and entering, assault, and sending death threats to the city council. There's a wall of clown and violent imagery on his Chirper page. The system's got him flagged as a Joker threat.

Jason's not jumping at shadows. The guy just… isn't shooting.

Jason does not lower his gun, and does not relax his finger on the trigger.

The others inside are still arguing about Batman. Jason can barely hear it over the blood pounding in his ears.

This doesn't make any sense. The whole group was arguing. About Batman, even. No one was paying any attention to him. It was the perfect opening. What, can he see Jason? Does he know he'll get shot down before he can make a move? He's not acting like it. Just keeping his head down, not trying to move or anything.

This doesn't make any sense.

Jason relaxes his finger on the trigger, but doesn't lower the gun.

If he shoots him now, he'll have to do it in front of the whole group. It'd be sloppy and public, and bring the police down on the group. He can't -- he doesn't want to do that unless there's no other option.

But he's not letting his fucking guard down, either.

So he waits. Seconds crawling, turning into minutes. The group stops arguing. Rhona’s the one who makes peace, oddly, mostly because she doesn't have much of a horse in the race. Madeline gratefully takes the reins back once it's settled down. Jason's honestly not sure she's cut out to lead the group. She's got a good heart, but she gets spoken over too easy. Then again, she's been dealing with it longer than anyone here.

They try to end things on a positive note. They always do, to little success. Everyone knows they're just going to be back here next week with some new horror story everyone is talking about. If they're particularly unlucky, maybe the sort of horror story that brings new members to the group. Hopefully legitimate ones, if there are. Jason had been caught flatfooted this time. He'll have to keep better tabs on this. Madeline used the one email for all of this. He's no Oracle, but maybe he can get access somehow, get advance warning.

No time to dwell on it now, though. Now, the room is emptying, one by one. ‘Charlie’ is the second to last to leave, before only Madeline.

Jason catches him on the way out.

It's an easy thing. Jason had already scoped out the alley first thing when he got here. He just has to slip down, collar ‘Charlie’, and shove him up against the wall with cold metal under his jaw.

Jason cocks his gun. Loudly.

“The fact that you didn't pull that piece is the only reason you're not dead already.”

“Oh God!”

“Were you there to kill them?”

“I didn't, I swear --”

“Do _not_ lie to me, Andrew, or Charlie, or whatever the hell you call yourself. Were you. There. To kill them?”

“I didn't hurt them! I swear to God --”

Jason shoves the gun upwards, forcing Andrew onto his toes.

“Fuck you. You think you're the first one like you I've dealt with? You show up with a bomb, a knife, a gun. You think you're gonna impress the clown by killing off his scraps? You think he cares? Better question. You think a group like this lasted this long without protection? The name Glen Skelton mean anything to you? Another one of you fucking wannabes? Gave out poison candy one Halloween, got off with a mistrial? He tried to show up to a meeting with a semi automatic. I slit his throat. Threw the body in the Harbor. Never even got traced back to the group. I have dealt with your like again and again and _again_ , Andrew. You are _nothing_ to me.”

“Please don't kill me. I didn't hurt them. I swear, I swear to God. Please, please, please --”

“Shut up.”

He does.

“Take out your phone.”

“Please --”

“Take out. Your phone.”

He does.

“She give you her email?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Good. Pull it up. Write her a message. Tell her exactly who you are and what you were going to do. Right now. Do not mention me.”

“What?”

“Did I fucking stutter. Do it. Now.”

“I d-”

He's interrupted by the crackle of electricity, and a sharp, female voice --

“Let go of him. Now.”

Jason recognized the voice immediately, but he turns anyway. Sure enough, there's Madeline standing there, holding a taser.

Shit.

Jason doesn't relent. It's a taser. He has insulated armor. He can handle this. He turns his attention back to ‘Charlie’.

“Tell -- tell her what you were going to do.”

“I didn't, I didn't --”

“Tell. Her.”

“I just wanted him to notice me! I just wanted to belong!”

“ _Tell her!_ ”

“I was going to shoot you all!”

Madeline drops her taser.

“B-but once I got there, I just couldn't do it!” He's sobbing pathetically now. “It wasn't like I thought it would be. You were all looking at me. You were all looking at me.”

He just keeps repeating it. Jason lets him drop, not looking at either of them.

“I'm done here. Do whatever you want with him. Call the cops if you want. Doesn't matter to me.”

“Wait!” Madeline calls out.

Jason hasn't left yet.

“We -- we used to have people like this sometimes. We tried so hard, but they always found us. Arnett always took care of it. We never told the others. We never talked about it. It just… happened.”

“But then they just… stopped,” she continues. “Arnett couldn't figure it out. He thought someone was planning something big. He kept talking about someone stalking us. I thought he was jumping at shadows. But... that was you. Wasn't it?”

Jason doesn't answer.

“Are… you a survivor, too?”

“... no. No, I'm not.”

“Then why are you doing this?”

Jason doesn't answer. He's said enough already.

Madeline doesn't push the matter. She looks down at Charlie.

“Go,” she tells him.

“What?” Jason and Charlie ask at the same time.

“Maybe you'll just tell your -- your clown friends about us, I don't know. But if there's a police report, it'll just be worse. It'll be public record. It'll make the news. Everyone will know. At least this way, we can just change the plans for the next meeting and hope. So just… go.”

“And what? You want me to just let him leave?” Jason asks heatedly.

“Yes,” Madeline says. “I don't know who you are. I don't know why you're doing this. And I guess you're not ready to explain. But if you care at all about the welfare of the group, then just… let him leave.”

Charlie stands. Jason doesn't move.

Charlie backs away. Jason doesn't move.

“It's a jokebook,” Charlie blurts out abruptly. “Everyone knows that. It's just gonna be a book of crappy jokes.”

“Oh,” Jason and Madeline say at the same time.

Charlie takes a few more steps, then takes off at a run, disappearing into the night.

The two of them wait a few more seconds, then burst out laughing, if only at the relief.

“I guess we need a new location for next week,” Madeline says.

“There's a place on Forrester which has pretty good security,” Jason responds neutrally. “Used to be a cop bar before they had to close down after a corruption sting.”

“Is that… open to the public?”

“No one will bother you if you use it.”

“Ah,” she says. “I'll… keep it in mind, then.”

Jason turns to leave.

“Thank you. Whatever it is you're trying to do, thank you.”

“It's not a favor to you.”

“Yeah. I'd… kind of figured.” She pauses. “... see you next week.”

“You won't.”

“Maybe not. But you'll be there.”

Jason doesn't respond to that one. Just fires his grappler and leaves, back to his apartment to pretend he'll get some sleep.

...

… a fucking jokebook. God _damn_ it.

**Author's Note:**

> Acknowledgements: Thank you very much to my friend Alex for proofreading and DC Mad Libs shenanigans, as well as for his suggestion regarding the ending that helped me bring it all home.
> 
> Most of these characters' backstories are original, but Madeline's is based off of a scene in a Joker origin story I saw scans of some time ago. I recall that most of the comic was honestly pretty bad, but that scene always stuck with me.


End file.
